


the world is not enough

by Edgelord (lostlikeme)



Category: Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Angst and Humor, Arguing, Bickering, Blood Drinking, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Japan, Japanese Culture, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Stalking, Sulking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-02-04 03:14:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostlikeme/pseuds/Edgelord
Summary: After nearly two years of searching, Lestat finds Louis hiding in Japan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So...I haven't read the brunt of the Vampire Chronicles books since I was in middle school so there's liable to be a lot of details I misremember. That being said, I've read some of the Prince Lestat (never finished it) and this fic takes place vaguely after that novel (somehow) Title is stolen from a song by Garbage. Not really sure how long this is going to be or how frequently I'm going to update, but I'm planning lots of short, drabble-length chapters and a sequel with smut. Anyway...enjoy!

After six hundred and thirty-two days of searching, Lestat found Louis hiding on a tiny island off the coast of China, hardly half the size of France. Instinct had guided him thus far, and the word of David, though he had confided in Lestat very little, almost nothing at all. The country wasn't built for him in size or stature, but Japan was a treasure in miniature that immediately charmed him. Though he was forced to duck under doorways and hunch over furniture fit for dolls, he couldn’t bring himself to leave, enchanted as Alice after she fell down the rabbit hole. 

The language remained a mystery, but he could pick through the heads of mortals and locate Louis in an instant. He was sitting in a lounge chair at a bar frequented by tourists, though it had all but emptied, with an expression on his face Lestat was rarely privy to witness. He was feeding carefully from three women, just a sip each time, until they were draping themselves across him, dizzied by blood loss. It was scandalous to see him beguile them, worked open like flowers. To watch Louis drink was to witness an artist at the easel, pouring himself into his work. He didn’t kill, not if he could help it. The lover of the little drink. 

He knew, of course, that he was being watched. 

As far as Lestat could tell he was showing off, more than he ever had in New Orleans. When Louis took notice of him on the other side of the plexiglass the emotion drained from his eyes like a matchstick drowned in water. The women spilled into each other when Louis stood, and he sloughed off the vulnerability all at once, a freshly pupated moth abandoning its chrysalis. He stepped outside, where he could surely sense Lestat’s presence but he could no longer see him, not at this hour, with the moon drowned in smog. 

Louis looked both ways before stepping out from under the streetlight and into the shadows cast by trees. When nothing happened, he crossed the street, anxiously peering down the strip of darkness squeezed between two buildings. His fingers twitched against the brickwork as he stared down the alley. The restaurant was a blur of neon light behind him.

“Lestat?”

His voice echoed through the cement corridor when he spoke, drawing out the consonants deliberately slow and human. He was dressed in century appropriate business attire, a vest that wasn’t cut right for the shape of him, and a blouse with the top three buttons undone, showing the pale curve of his collarbone. Lestat revealed himself in a slice of silvery moonlight cutting through the sky.

“Is there someone else you would prefer?”

If Louis was impressed by the sight of him, he gave no indication. His face was full of color from the hunt, but completely unflinching. A moment passed where Lestat thought he might leave - where he had in the past - but he didn’t. 

“How did you find me?” he asked instead. Lestat said nothing, and Louis flared. “David told you, then?”

He refused to answer; which Louis liked least of all. Anger propelled him forward, down the street, with Lestat hurrying just as furiously, matching his energy. There was a time when Lestat had allowed himself to imagine their reunion - if it could be called that at all - but he realized now how twisted the fantasies had been from the very start. The real Louis was an impossible whiner who took being dead too seriously to have any fun. 

“To think,” Lestat shouted, breathless, although he wasn’t winded. “You would run all the way across the globe just to spite me!”

Rather than refute or offer any form of explanation, Louis stopped to turn around and roll his eyes. His words were poised like the fangs of a snake.

“One cannot run from one end of the planet to the next, Lestat.”

“Thank you for educating me!” Lestat grabbed hold of his arm, control slipping. The fabric under his fingers was cheap. “How many planes was it? At least five layovers, with you being as weak to the sun as you are.”

The very notion of Louis travelling coach incensed him. The blood flowing through his veins heated, and Louis threw his hands in the air, grinding the heel of his shoe into the ground when he spun around. 

“What would you know about planes when you can take to the sky like a bat out of hell!” 

They had stopped in front of a building that Lestat could tell already was his house. It was larger than he had expected, and far less hidden. Unlike older, more traditional Japanese architecture, the dwelling was more or less a hollowed chunk of cement with a second floor balcony. Lestat eyed the air conditioner mounted outside with suspicion. All the windows were dark, but there was a magic surrounding it. 

“Won’t you open your home to your maker?”

Louis wordlessly began ascending the stairs outside to the entryway on the second floor. He refused to look at him as he collected his key from his pocket. How believable the entire human facade was, how achingly soft Louis worked to stay. 

“There are a hundred hotels that suit you better.”

It was true. Lestat had not yet stayed at a five star suite in Tokyo or visited Roppongi, he hadn’t had the time to venture off the mainland or explore the temples tucked away in the mountainside. Yes, those were things Lestat was eager to do, but not alone.

“I’ve missed you, Louis.”

When he finished speaking, he let his gaze linger. A last ditch effort, and they both knew as much. Louis pressed his lips into a thin line before conceding. The latch clicked as he unlocked the door. 

“For no longer than a week.”


	2. Chapter 2

Time distorted itself whenever they were together, and that first night slammed shut like a rickety window. Louis introduced Lestat to his home, one of eight studio apartments crammed into the same building, with doors made of paper and walls just as thin. The stove had two burners and the fridge barely touched his hip. Although Lestat owned no food which to store in it, and required no heat with which to warm himself, the loss of these human amenities bothered him just the same. 

Louis was busy crouched between two sliding doors, preparing what Lestat assumed would serve as a bed. When Louis turned, Lestat could see the space behind him clearly, and he ascertained what he had hoped was a bedchamber was merely a closet. There was no furniture save for a single table with a blanket above it, and while Lestat knew very little about the mechanics of feng shui, the space was so lifeless that it was certainly beyond any energy at all.

“You will retire already?”

“Yes, Lestat.”

“The sun won’t rise for hours,” Lestat complained, draping himself over the square table in the center of the room. “Although you haven't aged a day, you've still managed to become an old man.” 

Louis did not turn at the sound of Lestat’s plea. Instead, he rearranged the heavy floral comforter in the closet. The wooden shelves inside were barren, and there was just enough horizontal space for Louis to squeeze himself into, if he bent his knees and curled like a fetus.

“Goodnight,” he said, without any emotion, before sliding the door shut. 

It was perhaps the single most ridiculous sight Lestat had witnessed since he’d caught Louis feeding on the blood of rats.

“No child of mine is going to sleep on the floor,” Lestat snapped, tearing the door back open at once. “In a closet, no less!”

“This is a futon,” Louis said, sandwiched between two polished wooden shelves. “And it is none of your concern where or how I rest, whether it be in a closet or curled up beneath a table with a blanket on top!”

Louis tried to yank the door closed again and Lestat threw his hands into the air, puzzled and frustrated.

“Now it is a crime to care for you?”

“No, but it is a disrespect to treat me as if you have any control over me.”

“Have you considered that what you call control is merely an expression of love?”

Louis scoffed with so much contempt it was a wonder he didn’t choke on the sound as it left the hollow of his throat. 

“If that is the case, you must love me far deeper than I could ever imagine.”

This time, Lestat made no move to open the closet. He could feel Louis’ fiery presence on the other side the same as he could sense the sunlight, rising noiselessly above the horizon line and fanning across the city. Lestat’s limbs grew heavy and he conceded to sleeping under the roof of the wooden table, to pass the time until dusk, if nothing else.


	3. Chapter 3

Lestat had risen early, when the sun was still high enough above the horizon line that he was forced to wear sunglasses, or else refract light from his prenatural sclera and blind half of Japan. He was lucky that the stylish black shades matched what he was already wearing, although it wouldn’t be long before the closet was too full of clothes for Louis to sleep in. Lestat found the fashion district without much difficulty, as if some deeper aspect of his soul was drawn to the rich fabric and vibrant color. 

“Irasshaimase!” 

Every shopkeeper greeted him more or less the same, and without meaning to, Lestat very quickly began to pick up on the language. The real trouble was keeping nosey civilians at bay - everything from children who grabbed for his brilliantly blond hair to high school students who wanted to know where his accent was from. Navigating his way home ultimately took longer than purchasing the goods, and while Lestat hadn’t meant to, he’d wandered far enough that by the time he was back, dusk had long since passed and it was undeniably night.

The tiny dwelling where Louis lived was completely unchanged, down to the closet door behind which his fledgling presumably slept. It wasn’t any stretch of the imagination to assume that what little furniture Louis owned had likely already been here when he moved in. Seeing that he was in no hurry to wake, Lestat took his time unbuckling his shoes and placing them by the front door.

He unpacked each bag and found that ultimately, he was disappointed. The clothes here weren’t made for him, not in height nor breadth. The shirts all sloped where his shoulders didn’t and none of the pants offered quite enough room. The futon became his saving grace, rolled up by the kotatsu, the only purchase that proved to be of much use other than the small clock Lestat couldn’t tear his gaze away from.

Even now, the closet remained noiseless, completely untouched. Not even a vampire as weak as Louis required that much sleep. Lestat approached it cautiously, pressing his fingers to the paper between the wooden frame, hesitant to actually open it. For a moment, Lestat expected nothing. Yes, he could sense his presence behind the flimsy barrier, but Louis was smart and had proved Lestat to be the fool on more than one occasion. 

His hand twitched and he slid the door open before he was further tempted to break it. Louis looked almost as alive as the night they had first met. He was curled into himself so tightly he appeared impossibly small and vulnerable. Lestat bent his knees to get a better view and had to stifle a smirk at the image of a grown man stuffed into a space the size of a child’s coffin.

“You’ll sleep all night then?” Lestat huffed. His eyelashes didn’t so much as flutter. “All week?”

When Louis didn’t respond, Lestat reached for his ankle, unfolding his leg and pulling his foot awkwardly into his lap. His fingernail grazed the hem of Louis’ sock and he shuddered, jolted, and tried to kick him in the face with a plain and decidedly hideous brown loafer. It fell to the floor, inert. Lestat was made of stone so impenetrable Louis might as well have been helpless, and he knew it. There was a wild look to him, like an animal caught in a steel trap. 

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” 

Lestat quirked a brow and began peeling the sock away, heel to toe, until the pale appendage was completely exposed. He switched to the other and discarded the cheap shoe, teasing the skin of his ankle until goosebumps spread out across it. 

“It’s the Japanese custom to remove your shoes before entering.”

“I know that much,” Louis snapped. He was trembling, like wood smoking in a fire, on the verge of caving in. “Why? What are you doing here? For what purpose did you stalk me, incessantly forcing your way back into my life?”

Lestat traced the arch of his foot with his thumb before working into the muscle, applying steady pressure. Louis said nothing as Lestat caressed him, running his fingers over the tendons pulled taut and around his curled up toes.

“You gave me a week,” Lestat reminded him. “It’s only been a day.”

“Forget last night,” Louis said darkly. He pulled hard on his leg, to no avail. “Disappear before someone notices.”

With a sigh and a jerk of his wrist, Lestat pulled him entirely from the closet. Louis twisted and caught himself on his elbows, fine brown hair was flipped over his head, curtaining his face. He cleared it from his line of sight with his arm, fuming, and tried to kick Lestat again, this time, in the face. 

“Or you’ll what?”

Lestat stood up with his ankle still in his hand, which pulled Louis onto his back. He looked altogether too beautiful with his mussed hair splayed across the tatami, bright green eyes teeming with fury. Lestat laughed. 

“How many houses must you burn before you’re satisfied?”

He circled his legs in one arm while reaching for the slippers on the kotatsu with the other. The material had hardly touched his bare foot when a heavy rapping came from the front door. Louis scowled, releasing a multitude of complaints without ever opening his mouth. Lestat’s lips twisted into a smile. 

“Expecting someone special?”


	4. Chapter 4

Lestat yanked the door open full of ferocious energy, with Louis peering helplessly over his shoulder. A woman nearly as old as he, half his height and hunched over, pushed past them completely unperturbed. Although she was wrinkled and thin with age, her hair had not yet greyed. It appeared not to bother her that she was neither welcomed, nor invited. Curiosity officially piqued, Lestat moved out of the way to accommodate her fragile, yet formidable presence.

She was forced to crane her neck to get a good look at his face. Her gaze softened and she brushed off her blouse before fiddling with a strand of hair that had slipped from the loosely wound bun on top of her head. Louis floundered beside them, wordless. He was either embarrassed or angry - it didn’t make much of a difference. She turned to him with narrowed eyes.

“You didn’t tell me you had a guest,” she snapped. “You know the rules.”

Louis appeared thoroughly exasperated, paler than usual. She had left little room for argument, but he was going to try anyway. Now more than ever, Lestat wished he could read his progeny’s mind. 

“Hanako - ”

“Hanako-san,” she corrected sternly. 

She eyed the entirety of the small space with equal parts suspicion and derision. Lestat read her thoughts and found that she was itching to pull open the cupboards in the kitchenette and check the fridge. There was nothing about Louis she deemed trustworthy, not his eerily quiet attitude or his undisclosed country of origin. 

“Where do you go all day?”

Several ideas crossed her mind, either that he was a criminal or an irresponsible bachelor or both.

“Work,” he lied. “Of course.”

She arched a single eyebrow and pressed her lips into a thin line. This apartment complex had been left to her by her father when he died, and she had been helping him maintain it ever since she was a little girl. Come hell or high water, he never would have allowed a foreigner to live there at all. 

“And how is it I never hear you come in?”

“I’ve been told I move very quietly.” Louis smiled gently, although Hanako remained unconvinced. “I would hate cause a disturbance to you or the other tenants.”

“And who is this?” Hanako shifted her attention to Lestat for the second time. “You know there’s a strict policy about guests.”

Despite himself, Lestat found the mortal’s shrewd demeanor with Louis undeniably charming. He was eager to see who else she might order around.

“Forgive me,” Lestat interjected. “I’m afraid we haven’t met.” He dropped to one knee so that he could bow his head and kiss her hand. His blond hair formed a curtain around the impact site. “My name is Lestat. It is a pleasure to meet you Hanako-san.”

Her face turned pink and she snatched her hand back, pressing them both tightly to her thighs before offering a small bow in return. 

“He's just a friend of mine,” Louis confessed, as if it were his greatest sin. “He won't be staying longer than a week.”

“I’m visiting from France,” Lestat told her, before rising back to his full height. “On business.”

“France,” she crooned. “How lovely.”

Her father had wanted to take her there when she was a child, but between work as a salaryman and a landlord, he’d never found the right time. Then her mother had passed, and the little dream had slipped away like soapy water down a rusty drainpipe. 

“I promise not to make a peep,” Lestat said with a wink. “I’ll be gone before you know it.”

“Not to worry,” Hanako amended, still blushing. She gave one last lingering look to the empty kitchen before moving toward the door. “Next time I’ll bring pears.”


End file.
